


and you will always have me

by lazyfish



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Comfort Sex, F/M, Floor Sex, Holy Metaphors Batman!, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s03e13 Parting Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 18:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16000994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/pseuds/lazyfish
Summary: The world is falling down around Bobbi, but she still has Hunter.





	and you will always have me

The first thing Bobbi does when the door to their hotel room shuts behind them is check it for bugs. She’s fairly certain that no one’s been in the room before them, since they chose the hotel at random and the room was assigned to them, but she’d rather be paranoid now than sorry later. Lance, wisely, stands to the side while she completes her check, aware that even if he were to check an area she would feel compelled to check it again.

When she’s done sweeping the room, Bobbi turns back to Hunter. He looks tired, and she’s sure she doesn’t look much better. Bobbi trudges over to Hunter. She doesn’t hug him, exactly - just presses her body against his, hooking her chin over her shoulder and leaning into him. Lance’s arms loop around her, settling into the small of her back. Slowly, Bobbi’s arms wrap around him, holding him close.

She takes a deep breath, and it’s on the exhale that Bobbi realizes with terrifying certainty that Lance’s arms are the only thing holding her together. She grips him tighter, and he mirrors the gesture, until they’re both clutching each other like their lives depend on it. Honestly? Maybe their lives do depend on it, because now it’s just the two of them. They’re on their own.

Bobbi swallows around the lump in her throat, trying to think of anything other than what they’re leaving behind. She knows they made the right choice, but it’s hard to imagine that she’s going to spend the rest of her life without S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s a piece of her that’s missing now.

But that’s not the most that she could’ve lost today. She closes her eyes, pressing her lips together and inhaling Lance’s familiar scent. It’s buried under the stench of dirt and sweat and wet cotton, but it’s still him. He’s still here, not buried in a ditch because he had been lead in front of a firing squad. She had almost lost him, and the thought leaves her feeling exposed.

This is the second time this year she had feared that she was going to be burying her ex-husband, and it’s beginning to get to her. Bobbi considers herself strong, maybe even stronger than most, but even she has a breaking point. She doesn’t want to find out how much further she can push before she reaches it.

“You okay?” Lance asks, the vibrations of his words thrumming through her chest. He kisses her just behind her ear, and Bobbi shivers.

“I don’t think so,” she whispers hoarsely. She’s not okay, and the idea of hiding that from him right now seems so outlandish that it’s almost laughable.

“I’ve got you,” Hunter says, kissing her ear again.

“I know.” Bobbi turns to brush a soft kiss against his neck. She pauses, then presses her lips against his pulse point. It’s not quite a kiss, because she doesn’t pull away - just holds her mouth against the joint of his throat and jaw, assuring herself that his heart’s still beating with the thrum of his blood under his skin.

“You a vampire now, Bob?” Hunter asks, breaking her thrall. They both squeeze out laughs, tinny sounding chuckles that betray how un-funny this whole thing is. His comment would normally ignite a round of play-fighting, but Bobbi doesn’t have the energy.

She steps back to appraise Hunter again. All the evidence says that he’s _fine_ , and Bobbi’s not normally one to ignore evidence, but she needs to be even surer than sure. She just wants to be close to him, so that she’ll know if he disappears. (He can’t disappear. Not now.)

Bobbi makes eye contact with Hunter, holding his gaze for a few moments. He looks back at her, hazel eyes wide and searching. Slowly, deliberately, she peels off her shirt, letting it drop to the floor with a soft _swish_.

“Bobbi,” Hunter murmurs as she reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra. “Are you sure?”

She nods, biting her lip as her bra joins her shirt on the floor. “I need you,” she whispers, voice cracking. Bobbi’s spent the past forty-eight hours being strong, pretending everything’s alright, and now… she just wants that to be over. She wants Hunter.

“You have me,” he promises as he steps forward. He undoes the button of her jeans, tugging down the zipper with his other hand. Bobbi wriggles out of the clothing, until she’s in nothing but her underwear. She strips Hunter out of his clothing, too, pausing when he’s left only in his boxers.

Her movements are cautious as she fits her mouth against his, and she sighs in relief when it feels the same. Everything is changing, but Lance is the same. His hand curves around the back of her neck, and Bobbi feels panic rise in her chest at the coldness of his fingers and the roughness of the bandage that’s wrapped around one of his hands. Russia has left too many marks on him, and she doesn’t like it at all.

“Focus on me, Bob,” Hunter murmurs, either sensing her panic or feeling it; she’s not sure which. One of his hands briefly departs from her neck, and the light switch clicks softly as he flips it off. The darkness is calming, and Bobbi feels some of the tension seep out of her. She takes Lance’s words to heart, focusing on the feeling of his fingertips against her skin.

He drags his hand down her neck, following the curve of her muscles until he’s skimming over her shoulder. He pauses a moment, and Bobbi guesses he’s touching the scar that’s there. She can’t feel anything - all the nerve endings are dead. Hunter lingers, and Bobbi nudges her lips against his cheek.

“You have me,” she says, borrowing his words because she doesn’t have any better ones. She knows that he’s thinking of the last day they almost lost each other, and she shivers, trying to beat away the shadows. It’s difficult, because even though they have each other now…

Hunter nods, returning his attention to kissing her instead, more insistent than before, and probably more befitting of their mostly-naked states. Bobbi follows her partner as he guides them over to the bed, sighing with pleasure as his hands fumble over her body. Hunter’s touches are clumsy, but it makes her nostalgic for simpler times, when they were still learning each other. That was when they had fewer scars and less baggage and so much hope they almost choked on it.

Lance collapses backwards onto the hotel bed, and they both freeze at the loud shriek of the springs. The vindictive part of Bobbi wants to go on like this, so the agents that have undoubtedly camped out next door will have to hear them, and know that she and Hunter haven’t had their spirits entirely broken.

But this isn’t about proving something. This is about them, about taking comfort in the touch of the person she loves. She doesn’t want anyone else to hear them.

Bobbi opens her mouth to suggest an alternate location, but then she catches a glimpse of Hunter’s face, illuminated by a thin sliver of moonlight. His cheeks are sunken and his eyes are hollow, and he looks so _tired_.

“Lance…” The rest of what she was going to say dies on her tongue as he rolls his hips up into hers, his erection stiff against her.

“I want this, too, Bob,” he says. “I want you.” His voice is raw in his throat, and Bobbi can see his mask slipping, fear and anguish and desire painted in the sharp lines of his features.

“Floor,” she murmurs as she trails kisses down his neck. Her legs curl around him as he lifts them both off the bed, walking a few steps before lowering them both to the carpeted floor of their hotel room. They take a few moments to adjust, Lance wordlessly turning onto his back so Bobbi is hovering above him.

“Ready?” Hunter asks. Bobbi closes her eyes and slides her hand into her underwear, shuddering in shock when she finds how wet she is. She’d been so focused on the way she was feeling emotionally that she had barely considered the physical sensations - a situation that is utterly foreign to her. She’s used sex to ignore the other kinds of intimacy for _years_ , and now the opposite has finally happened.

“Ready,” she confirms, tugging down his boxers and pushing the crotch of her underwear aside so she can guide him into her.

They gasp in tandem as Bobbi lowers herself down, and Bobbi almost starts crying with relief. This is still the same, too - the feeling of rightness when he is inside her, completely united with her love.

Hunter’s the first one to move, thrusting up into her slowly. Bobbi gasps again, but the thrust reminds her that their position, with her on top of him, makes it rather difficult for him to move. She takes the lead, raising and lowering herself in time with the sound of his breathing. Hunter’s hands ghost across her hips, and she weaves their fingers together carefully.

Bobbi leans down, closing her eyes to adjust to the change in angle of Hunter’s thrusts as she flattens her torso against his. “I love you,” she whispers into the darkness.

“I love you,” he responds breathily. Bobbi tries to memorize the contour of the words, just in case this is the last time she hears them. Hunter cranes up to kiss her, and Bobbi accepts the gesture, more tension unspooling from her shoulders as she lays close to him.

This is the closest they can be - him inside of her - but it still doesn’t feel close enough. She’s not sure anything will be close enough, at least not now, when the terror of the day is still looming over her. Bobbi forces her mind away, remembering Hunter’s words. _Focus on me_. And she does; she focuses on the warmth of his skin, the clench of his abs beneath her as he continues to move, the noises of content he makes with every snap of his hips, the way his hands never stop holding hers, and the fear is less intense. It’s almost bearable.

She separates their palms gently, a gesture made easy with the slick of sweat that’s beginning to develop on both of their bodies. Bobbi cups Hunter’s face carefully, thumb running over her cheekbone. She tilts her head to kiss him again, soft and sweet - a stark contrast to what’s currently going on in the lower half of their bodies. Their hips are pounding together, the sound of skin meeting and separating echoing around the hotel room. Bobbi can feel it happening, of course. She knows that it feels good, just as sex with him has always felt, but what’s happening in between her legs seems secondary to what’s happening between her ribs, the anxious fluttering of a world-weary heart.

“You are so beautiful,” she manages in between heavy breaths. Hunter has always been the most beautiful thing to her, the most precious thing, even when he’s scraggly and battered. If anything, he is more precious to her now. Every mark on him is a battle scar, a reminder that he fought for the people they love. They didn’t win the battle, and hell, maybe they even lost the war, but… but they’re still breathing, and even better, breathing together.

And oh, how she loves him.

“Bobbi,” Hunter rasps, smoothing his hand down her back.

“I’m here,” she whispers back, promise fervent on her lips. It’s the last coherent thing she manages before everything becomes too much and she’s forced to pay attention to nothing but her body. Together they climb higher and higher, reading the smallest movements the other makes like a poem, the twist of limbs becoming pen strokes, writing something beautiful.

And it is just as satisfying as it is beautiful. Bobbi gasps Lance’s name as he arches up into her, and she’s gone.

For one shining moment, there isn’t darkness anymore; just light, infinite light. Sunlight streaming through open windows, fluorescent bulbs in a shadowy corner, neon lights on a backdrop of stars, Hunter’s smile on a Sunday afternoon - but then she comes down from her orgasmic high, and she’s still in a room with no lights and no hope.

Then he smiles at her, and she knows neither of those things are true.

Bobbi lifts herself off of Hunter somewhat awkwardly, flopping down beside him on the floor, boneless. One of her hands is still in his; she cannot let him go. The smell of sex is in the air, arousal and cum and sweat mingling with the mustiness of the room to create an odor that isn’t all that pleasant.

“Shower?” She suggests.

Hunter nods, but makes no effort to move. Bobbi opens her mouth to try to coax both of them into moving, but finds that her throat is closing up.

And now she’s crying. It happens so suddenly that Bobbi couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to - and she wants to. She hates crying. She counts herself lucky that the tears only came now, because if she had cried during sex, she probably never would have been able to look herself in the eyes again.

Lance’s arms wrap around her waist, and Bobbi twists herself so her face is in the joint of his neck and shoulder, muffling her sobs against his skin.

This is all real. Everything she has is gone.

Except for Hunter. Her Hunter.

“Lance?”

“Hmm?”

“I want you to marry me.” She feels the breath he holds at the request, and bites her lip. Bobbi’s not sure what she expected; an immediate yes, maybe, or an immediate no. Not the silence that is suffocating her.

“I’m not saying no,” Hunter finally says. “But Bob, I don’t need to be your husband to love you for the rest of my life. You have me. You will _always_ have me, if you want me.”

Bobbi pauses to consider. Is she asking him because she’s afraid he’s going to slip away? Yes, yes she is. But she’s also asking because she loves him. Because a life with Lance Hunter is a life that she wants, even now. She knows so much more now than she did the first time they were married - more about herself, more about him, and more about them. She wants it, even knowing everything she does. She wants him.

She had called marrying him a tragic mistake more than once. But it doesn’t feel like that anymore. If they hadn’t been there then, they couldn’t be here now. And even if everything sucks, there is no place she’d rather be than here, on a hotel floor, in Lance’s arms.

“I don’t need to be your wife,” Bobbi says after a long pause. “But I want to be. I want to marry you.”

“Okay,” Hunter replies. “Then let’s get married.”

The declaration is enough to stave away the last of her tears, and Bobbi is left feeling rather ridiculous about this whole situation. She had told Hunter when they were dating the first time that if she was ever going to propose to her, it couldn’t be during or after sex. Here she was, breaking her own damn rules. Hunter probably doesn’t mind, though - at least she hopes he doesn’t. She doesn’t want to ask now, though. Everything is heavy enough without his disappointment adding to the weight.

“Guess we’re ex-exes now,” Bobbi muses, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Hunter chuckles. “You’re the best ex-ex-wife I’ve ever had, love.”

“I’m your only ex-ex-wife,” Bobbi teases back.

“Which makes you the best,” Hunter argues, kissing her forehead.

“It also makes me the worst,” Bobbi grumbles. “You’re the worst ex-ex-husband.”

“Rude.” Hunter’s indignation is not all that convincing.

“I love you,” Bobbi says simply.

Lance smiles at her. “And I love you.”

For now, that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me on [tumblr](https://huntxngbxrd.tumblr.com), you may know this as the fic that made me a fusty old white lady writing her eighteenth erotic novel. I would apologize about the excess of metaphors, but _damn_ , I love metaphors.


End file.
